Almost Easy
by Failure Turtle
Summary: Wherever the gold is, there she'll be. And when the title falls into the hands of the biggest jerk in the WWE, she's forced to work with him. And the jerk isn't Edge. In fact, he's the good guy. CM PunkxOC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is probably full of typos because I did this on this sites document manager after work and I'm tired as hell. Probs won't update in a minute since I still don't have a computer and I'm doing this at my mom's while I wait for my laundry to finish.**

I hate my job.

I never wanted to be a wrestler. All I ever wanted to do was to get paid by being hot, so when a WWE talent scout offered me a developmental contract while on a job, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for me. I'd be on television. I'd be famous. I'd be rich. I'd be beating out hundreds of women who actually worked for something like this all because I was blessed with good looks and a few men who paid for my enhancements. It would be like live action modeling instead of only posing in front of a camera or walking down a runway like I did for a few years.

I don't know which I regret more: signing the contract or ever becoming a model in the first place.

This is a terrible business. I can't stand it, but everyone needs to pay the bills. Aside from that, I must admit that I have a venomous taste for designer shoes.

Your personal life is out there for the world to see. You are encouraged to be scantily clad twenty-four seven. Your family time is rare, as well as your personal time. You learn to live for the four hours of sleep a night you get in your hotel before waking up early for the next flight out. And you can't sleep on the flight because someone always wants to take a picture with you.

"Wake up, Cind. We're here," Adam whispered in my ear as he nudged my arm.

Thank god for Adam Copeland.

I was a bit skeptical when Vince decided to drop the belt from John Cena and give it to Edge. The bad guy won the war, and Vince always seemed so against that. But with the title change meant that I changed shows, as well. You see, I have a different sort of contract. My storyline or gimmick, whichever you prefer, is that I manage the champion, no matter who it is. It could be Big Show and I'd have to pretend to be in love with the guy. Unfortunately for me, Cindy Ashworn, the gimmick makes me appear to be a slut or a gold digger.

Now, don't get me wrong, John Cena is a great guy. I had fun traveling with him and getting to know him during his time as champion. I was worried about Edge. I hoped his Rated R persona was simply that, just a persona. Luckily for me, it wasn't, and I've come to learn that Adam Copeland is one of the greatest individuals I have ever met in my life, and he is definitely my favorite wrestler to manage, travel with, and work with. He is like the older brother I never had.

I groaned as I woke up, not wanting to move from my resting position. "Mmm...What time is it?"

"Time to get moving. The plane has just landed. We're in New Orleans for Extreme Rules."

I slowly stood up, reaching inside the pocket of my jeans for my phone. 11 AM. I slept for about twenty minutes on the flight, and I'm going to have to run on that.

* * *

We only just arrived at the arena and we're already in the pre-show meeting. Rediculous. I am half asleep as it is and I'm afraid that I'm going to start drooling on Adam's shoulder at any minute.

Honestly, I wasn't paying much attention during the meeting, at least to start off with. Blah blah blah. Same shit, different pay per view.

"Oh, of course I'm going to job to Umaga. Why WOULDN'T I win Money in the Bank, then? We might as well put the case on the line as an even MORE special stipulation? Hm?"

Vince must have just announced the winner of the Samoan Strap match, because CM Punk's whining and crying woke me up. Now, I'm not going to claim to love everyone, but CM Punk, or CM Junk as he is known behind his back, is someone that I cannot stand. He is rude. He is cocky. He is arrogant. He thinks everyone is below him because he came from Ring of Honor.

I understand that he's straight edge and all, but I swear, that man could use a few drinks in him.

Vince let out a heavy sigh. "Alright, fine. How about I just change the whole damn show just so YOU can win a match?"

Punk clicked his tongue and snapped his fingers. "You've got it, old man."

In the short time I've worked in the WWE, I've never seen Vince McMahon speechless. I guess there's a first for everything.

After the chatter died down, Vince continued on with his ramblings about the show and I drifted back into my peaceful stupor. Did I honestly care about the Hog Pen Match? No, I did not.

"And Jeff Hardy will gain the World Heavyweight Championship."

"WHAT?"

I bolted upright. Did I seriously just hear that correctly? I would have to manage _Jeff Hardy_?

"Yes, Cindy. You and Edge will part ways tonight. Do I make myself clear?"

Guess he's not speechless anymore.

"Yes, sir."

I looked over and Jeff Hardy and found that he was looking over at me, as well. He gave me a friendly smile. I didn't know him very well. I know that Adam and his brother had some troubles in the past, but those were where they belonged, in the past. As much as I didn't want to stop traveling with Adam, I _did_ have my eye on that new set of Louis Vuitton luggage...

"Hardy's a good guy. You'll like him," Adam encouraged me, rubbing my shoulder as the meeting ended.

"I guess...And we'd still be on the same show," I agreed.

"Yep. I can't be greedy and hog you all to myself. I've gotta share the wealth."

"Ya know, I feel REAL bad for Hardy. He's gotta travel with that blow up doll."

Behind us, CM Punk was exiting the meeting, as well. He really got my blood boiling with that comment.

"Are you implying that I'm easy?" I barked back at him.

"Well I mean come on, woman," he snarled, rolling his eyes. "We all know what you're really doing when you're managing the champion. Or is it massaging the champion? And look at you with your blonde hair and fake boobies. You have trailer park slut written all over you, sweetheart."

"Just because you don't get laid..." I muttered under my breath as Adam guided me away from that douchebag.

* * *

To tell the truth, my heart dropped a little when Jeff unhooked the title, winning the match.

No more Adam.

No more fun.

Hello to new starts, I guess.

Saying my heart broke when I heard the opening riffs of CM Punk's entrance music is quite possibly the second biggest understatement ever. The only thing to beat that out was saying that the Titanic was indestructible.

When Punk won, my world ended.

I was on the sinking Titanic as a third class passenger with no way out.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Whoever sent me that last review (sorry not going back to check your name) clearly doesn't watch WWE programming.**

I was still in my Lita-esque Edge shirt that was tied and cut up as Punk draped his arm around me.

Asshole.

Adam was somewhere in the arena. I couldn't see him laying on the floor outside the ring, nor did I see him being accompanied to the back by referees or EMTs.

"You hurt Jeffy!" I heard a random teenage girl scream from the crowd. I looked over at her and she was shaking her fist at me. Typical Hardy mark. She looked as if she ate a few too many McDonald's happy meals and hadn't seen a shower in a few months or years. Throw in the cut up Hardy shirt that she probably assumed was cute...

I feel bad for Jeff. He's a great guy, but he has the worst fans in the world. Even Cena's kindergarten brigade is better than that.

"Get your arm off of me," I whispered to Punk while trying to keep a smile on my face and look pretty for the cameras and the PPV buyers.

"No way, Cinds. You're mine now," he snarled, with a grin that rivaled the Joker's. His arm then moved from my shoulder's to my waist, pulling me as close as physically possible. "Now all I have to do is get you out of that top..."

Oh hell no.

When we finally got to the back, I wormed my way out of his grasp. I had half a mind to slap that stupid grin off of his stupid face.

"You want to get me out of _what_?" I growled, my eyes reducing to slits. I felt as if my face was on fire. Yes, I knew I had a reputation, but the truth is that I only did stuff like that with guys I _liked_.

"Whoa, settle down there, skippy. I mean I need to get you into a certified CM Punk shirt and out of that Edge junk. Now let's see...I don't have much of a selection, and you don't look good in much," he rambled, stroking his measly beard in mock concentration.

"You are a jackass," I mumbled. I knew he heard me, but did I care? No, not really.

"What? Am I supposed to bow down to you because you're a WWE Diva? Yeah, Maria tried playing that same card with me and I kicked her scrawny ass to the curb. I don't care what you look like because they stuck me with you. And trust me, doll, you don't look like much."

I rolled my eyes at his comments. I knew damn well that Maria was the one that broke up with him.

"Besides, you little Cindy Margolis wannabe, I bet I could look in the crowd and find a Cena fan hotter than you," he added.

I smiled. "And then you would be convicted of pedophilia."

* * *

I don't like this shirt. I don't _understand_ this shirt. This CM Punk ribcage shirt looks like a shirt I could just walk into a mall and get from Hot Topic.

Way to be original.

I sat out in the hallway with Natalya as I laid the shirt on my lap.

"I hate him."

"Eh, he has some redeeming qualities," Natalya said.

I looked at her in confusion. "Like?"

"Well, he doesn't drink or smoke cigarette with the guys. At least he has a smaller chance of smelling for reasons other than sweat."

I giggled. "Nats, you're strange."

"You're calling _me_ strange? Have you seen my boyfriend's hair?"

We laughed and made small talk about how ridiculous boys are. Neither of us noticed the wrestling boot clad footsteps approaching us.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?"

I looked up to see the straight edge devil himself, Cock Mongrel Punk.

"I _am_ dressed," I stated. And I was. I was wearing black pleather pants, silver stilettos, and a sparkly halter top.

"No, you're not. You know we're opening the show, right? I have to tell the crowd how pathetic their drug loving hero is. Put on a shirt and some pants and let's do the damn thing. I don't have time for your primping, either. Just tie your rats nest of hair up in a ponytail or something and put some damn lipstick on. You look completely orange. You need more color."

"I wasn't aware you were a fashion expert, Punk."

"I'm _not_. I just know what looks good and what doesn't. Get to stepping before I step on you, kay?"

The jackass turned on his heel and walked the other way.

I heard Natalya sigh next to me. "I feel sorry for you. Honestly sorry."


End file.
